


The Voice of Flame

by faceless_marionette



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Cults, Demons, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Pining, Theology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faceless_marionette/pseuds/faceless_marionette
Summary: And neither the angels in Heaven aboveNor the demons down under the seaCan ever dissever my soul from the soulOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;-Edgar Allan Poe, Annabel Lee
Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne, Alastor/Charlie Magne
Kudos: 29





	The Voice of Flame

Charlie whimpers amidst the coldness the engulfed her form. She shivers, and her slip dress did nothing to shield her from the bite of chill. Her legs shake with feeble strength. The knot in her stomach tightens with dread. With no nourishment for the past hours, her knees buckles and she slumps on the floor. All fours like a mongrel at her master’s command. She can’t move. Her wrists were bounded by the rope that chafes her skin. She can’t see. Her eyes were blinded by the rough cloth wrapped around her face. But she can hear. Shuffles of feet resonate around her, followed by a string of murmurs.

The cloth was removed. Charlie blinks. Blurry gaze becomes clear as streaks of light strewn across her vision. They were inside a church and she sees people. Figures draped in black cloaks with a crimson sash placed across their chests. They surround her. Sunlight shines through the high windows and casts shadows behind their backs. They wear masks. Intricate veneers of the same form: a horned stag with hollow eyes and a sharp-toothed smile.

A stag steps close to her. Midnight velvet spills on the ground as he kneels. He tilts her chin, forcing her to look into the empty sockets of his mask. His horns nearly puncture her forehead. Charlie’s heart pounds against her chest and tears burn her eyes. She spots a silver dagger on his gloved hand. “Mercy,” she sobs. Deaf to her plea, the stag plunges the dagger through her arm. Charlie screams.

A blood-curdling scream that reverberates around the magnificent cathedral. Charlie jerks her head upward, nearly breaking her neck. In her pain, she sees the stoned gargoyles atop the pillars; they cackle as if they revel on her suffering. Her throat hurts and agony consumes her body like a flame roasting her skin. The stag thrusts the dagger deeper to her flesh with the intent of harboring more blood from her veins—rivulets of blood drop on the ground. The people chant while she cries.

_Bless she who bears the heart of Eve, whose bone and flesh was taken out from Man_

_Whose soul is bound to the tradition of our descendent, she who is the sacrifice of Man_

_She who is bound to He, the Great Demon King!_

Charlie hangs her head. In her blurry vision, she discerns the puddle of blood. Her blood. And the ground drinks it like a thirsty animal.

_Hear us! O Great Excellency!_

_Take tis girl_

_Tis sacrifice in exchange for your noble power_

The ground shakes. The walls crack. Their voices become louder. Charlie screams. The stained windows shatter into myriads of colours with thousands of shards showering them. A glass cuts Charlie’s cheek.

Plumes of smoke emerge as the ground opens as wide as an unhinged jaw. The fissure glows red hot with lavas seeping through the cracks. A figure appears—a man—an animal. The smile on his face nearly resembles the one etched on their masks. But his was more grotesque with a promise of sinister in his command. He clicks his claws, sharp claws that could stab a man in his heart. The man-animal did that. A gasp, and the stag that held Charlie tumbles on the domain beneath. His body was devoured by the sea of fiery inferno. Charlie falls behind, but the man-animal catches her in time.

“Great Demon King Alastor,” the people in black sing. They kowtow and press their faces on the floor.

Alastor looks at Charlie. He looks at the horrid wound that marred her precious skin. A static sound. A laugh and a growl. And they all burst into flames. Their piercing shrieks fill the hall and the gargoyles dance with glee. All of them incinerated, save for Charlie.

With little life she has, Charlie gazes at him. Her mouth moves, but no sound escapes her lips. She slumps. Life has gone from the loss of blood. The ominous smile on Alastor’s face morphs into a soft grin. He burns the blasted rope around her wrist and soothes the red blemish on her skin. Gently, he brings her to his chest. “Welcome back, my heart,” he whispers as they return to the depths of hell.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a hidden theme. Comments and critics are appreciated.


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